


Men I Trust

by nervoussis



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove sells Wedding Dresses, But he doesn't know he has a crush on Steve Harrington, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by Sex and the City, M/M, Modern setting because why the hell not, Mutual Pining, People just fall in love with him, Steve is the boy next door, slow burn?, those words mean nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervoussis/pseuds/nervoussis
Summary: Who was Steve Harrington, that he could make those kinds of demands from the Powers that be and, moreover, what was so remarkable about him that even the Gods of love seemed to bow at his feet?Maybe if you squinted?Billy tried it. Steve pretty much only wore big sweaters and fuzzy socks. Hogged the couch as they watched T.V., ran off sugar and black coffee, and. Billy considered him regardless, trying to get into the mindset of the endless parade of dumbasses he'd seen make a fool of themselves over those dopey brown eyes. Billy watched Steve scoop spoonful after spoonful of brownie core into his mouth. Watched his face go all blotchy when he declared: "That's it! I'm gonna die alone."Tragic, Billy concluded. Absolutely devastating.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	Men I Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title of this work comes from "Men I Trust," a band I adore with my whole heart.  
> Check them out if you have a moment!
> 
> Mood board for this over on the ole tumble weed:
> 
> https://passivenovember.tumblr.com/post/631191458151596032/show-chapter-archive

Steve was great, obviously he was.

Top of the line when it came to privileged assholes, as far as Billy was concerned, and they were friends. Best friends, even; shared an apartment and a cat and a car when the midwestern winters fell like the wrath of God. And _obviously_ Billy would go to bat for the guy over a lot less than spilled milk but that was as far as it went.

Steve was pretty.

And he smelled good even on the worst of days. Was soft and kind and smart (though he sometimes pretended not to be), and Billy understood that much. He got it: Steve was the perfect boyfriend for the saps that roamed the Chicago streets, but.

He didn’t understand the _obsession._

Steve Harrington was a serial monogamist. It wasn't like he searched for partners, though, they found him.

Against all odds. Sought him out the way flowers sometimes bend with the sun. Steve's relationship would end after one (three, _five_ years) and then, as if there existed a waitlist somewhere up in the stars, the next dumbass would come along like an unwelcome day of shitty weather. Taking up space on the couch. Eating all their food--keeping Billy awake with their fits of passion and declarations of love and he didn't get it on the most fundamental of levels.

The way Steve would end up in a bar the night after a breakup. Would take some sorry guy home with him, intent that _tonight's the night, Bill's! I'm going for my first one night stand!_ but Billy was 96% certain that Steve was just a blow-up doll with delusions of grandeur.

Every single time without fail, he found himself in another long term relationship and it was _disgusting_ the way it happened. 

Like a scene from a goddamn movie.

You know the one.

Lights up on the cheerfully dopey protagonist and his cynical best friends. The bar, the room, the love interest watching from under the twinkly lights as Steve floats into view. Naked on a goddamn cloud or whatever, and the guy sees angels. Hear harps and shit as their eyes lock across the space and blah, blah, blah.

Billy thought it was fucking freaky, but obviously everyone else knew something he didn't because Steve was always in a relationship.

 _Healthy_ relationships, too, where you'd think 'okay, this is endgame,' and then...Steve would break some poor guys heart for seemingly no reason at all. They'd be together for months or years when one day Steve would call it quits. And Billy would stumble home after a shift at Glamour to find Steve on the couch with a pint of _Ben & Jerry's_ brownie core, crying into his sweater like he wasn't the owner of the Broken Hearts Club.

Like he was the dumpee and not the dumper.

And Billy would play along. Give the kid sympathy and a reluctant shoulder to cry on because, well.

Science.

"I just don't feel it," Steve said. "I'm looking for love. _Real_ love, a: can't live, can't breathe, can't think without you kind of connection. The: I'm _consumed_ with thoughts of you--"

"Not possible, cheeks." Billy snatched the spoon from him and dug into the ice cream. "Kinda shit you're looking for only happens in movies. Love letters and boom boxes under the window and _let down your hair_ from some guy you hardly know."

"Bullshit."

Billy squinted as Steve leaned forward to snatch the ice cream away. He grinned. "No, it's absolutely true, Harrington. You want prince charming to ride in on his horse, fuck you into next week _and_ hold your hand after, which." Billy tickled Steve's sock foot, grinning wider as he squealed.

"That kinda shit only happens in movies." Billy licked the spoon and threw it at Steve's head.

He reached for it clumsily, wincing as it fumbled to the ground. Steve swallowed, spoon disappearing under a mountain of chocolate fudge ice cream. "And I don't want some guy I hardly know, just. Someone special."

And Billy was fucking confused.

Who _was_ Steve Harrington, that he could make those kinds of demands from the Powers that be and, moreover, what was so remarkable about him that even the Gods of love seemed to bow at his feet?

Maybe if you squinted?

Billy tried it. Steve pretty much only wore big sweaters and fuzzy socks. Hogged the couch as they watched T.V., ran off sugar and black coffee, and. Billy considered him regardless, trying to get into the mindset of the endless parade of dumbasses he'd seen make a fool of themselves over those dopey brown eyes. Billy watched Steve scoop spoonful after spoonful of brownie core into his mouth. Watched his face go all blotchy when he declared: "That's it! I'm gonna die alone."

Tragic, Billy concluded. Absolutely devastating.

Maybe if you tilted your head to the side?

Steve rubbed a dribble of ice cream off his chin and groaned, spitting more into the air.

Nope.

Billy took another bite. Maybe you had to be born with it, or something. Gifted the ability to understand that Steve Harrington is a man meant to be loved desperately, and maybe Billy wasn't one of those (un)lucky few.

Steve flopped back against the couch with a sigh. "Isn't this where you're supposed to say something nice? Stroke my ego a little?”

"What'd you have in mind"

Steve picked at the hole in his breakup sweatpants, brown eyes thoughtful. "How about someday my prince will come, or something?"

Billy licked the spoon, thoughtful. "He probably won't though."

Then it was Billy's turn to dodge flying spoons. "For someone who sells wedding dresses for a _living,_ you're fucking bad at this."

"Just doesn't _sound_ like me, baby."

"You couldn't try?" Steve whined, which.

Billy was powerless to that fuckin' pout. He grinned. "Okay. Something nice, I can do that. But charming's off the table, 48% of my brides end up saying 'yes,' to a messy divorce."

"Okay, so no prince." Steve said glumly. "How about, _You're not gonna die alone! Everyone loves and definitely wants to sleep with you."_

Billy considered it, just to let the guy sweat it out.

Finally, he threw the spoon at Steve's head again and reached across the coffee table for the remote. "I would but, I'm trying to stop telling lies." Kind of an asshole thing to say but it was worth it to see the look on Harrington’s face.

Steve squawked, incredulous. "Such a dick, oh my god." He mumbled. But he was grinning.

Billy squeezed his shoulder and changed the channel, sighing as Steve settled in against him to watch _House Hunters._

__

Adam was Billy's least favorite boyfriend at the best of times.

Always smiled too big, held on too tightly to Steve's waist when they woke up at fucking dawn to cook breakfast on the weekends. And the guy sang too loudly. Used all the hot water. Called Billy _Sport_ when he angrily sulked around the apartment with a bad hangover, and okay.

Billy didn't even want to delve into the homeotic undertones of _that_ bullshit.

Adam and Steve had dated for a year. Met at a farmers market one Sunday morning while Billy helped Steve pick out tomatoes. The two instantly bonded and fell in love over their mutual adoration for pomegranates or something, and Billy had thought for _sure_ that Adam was the one.

Wasn't happy about it, but. 

The way Steve beamed like a goddamn new penny in the sunlight every time that cornball was within earshot seemed like a pretty clear sign that Billy's favorite twink was off the market for good. Didn't help that the two love birds talked constantly about buying a house together in Forest Glen, having kids, the whole nine yards.

Billy should have known better.

Should have seen it coming; Steve had a track record of despising clingers. Got the ick nine months in _tops_ because, as Robin so eloquently put it; _Steve likes to be the needy one in the relationship._

And holy _shit_ was Adam like, top of the shelf, designer, limited edition _needy._

His pathetic desperation left no room at all for Steve, so. Robin and Billy liked to take bets. 

Liked to watch as Adam and Steve sat cuddled up on the couch with Hallmark every Friday night. As if being in a relationship = an inability to imagine how anything that didn't involve footy pajamas and hot cocoa could be worth the trouble.

Their little group had turned into a bargain brand three musketeers and.

No one was happy about it.

"I give 'em three more weeks," Robin passed the wine bottle over with a belch, careening around the door to Billy's bedroom to watch Steve lay his head on Adam's chest. She gagged dramatically. "Damn, that guy's like a piece of chewed up gum."

"Jesus, have some faith, Buckley." Billy was grinning around the lip of the bottle regardless. Adam _was_ like a piece of chewed up gum. Hubba-bubba, stuck to the bottom of a boot covered in dog shit.

Billy laughed at himself; he was fucking funny, okay? 

"I'm with Billy on this one," Heather snatched the wine, careful not to smudge her lipstick as the liquor dribbled down her chin anyway. "They're in love."

Heather was a messy drunk. Fun and sweet and so _different_ from Professional Everyday Heather. From bitchy, fiercely loyal, terrifyingly confident Heather. She smirked at Billy and passed the bottle back, making a little airplane noise while she held the bottle to his lips.

"Drink up lil baby," Heather cooed, and.

Billy loved the shit out of her.

"They are _not in love,"_ Robin deadpanned. She sat up on the mattress, swinging her legs over the side with fervor. "Seriously, do you two not have eyes or something?"

Billy choked a little when Heather dumped too much wine into his mouth, cackling around the pool of alcohol in his lungs. 

"We got eyes, dude." He ran a hand over his face. "Maybe Harrington and his boy toy of the week aren't all that interesting."

Buckley coughed, incredulous. "What's more interesting than the destruction of our best friend?"

Billy shrugged. "Watching paint dry?"

"Sitting on the phone with the IRS?" Heather reasoned.

Billy grinned. "Not being able to sleep and listening to your parents fuck through the walls."

"Calculus homework." 

He took the bottle from Heather's increasingly unsteady grasp and passed it to Robin. "Sucking dick," He said with a wink. 

"Sucking tits," Heather concluded, which. That was fucking funny; when the two of them got going there was no stopping it.

Heather and Billy started laughing again, leaning against each other to keep from collapsing onto the scratchy beige carpet.

Robin watched them with an even stare, smirking in spite of herself.

"Well this has been very helpful," She said flatly. When they didn't stop laughing she cleared her throat. "So, just so we're on the same page; the pair of you would be okay with Steve marrying that imitation human out there?"

Billy ran his fingers through Heather's hair, "Ew, no--"

"We're _saying_ that it isn't really our business anyway." Heather slurred. 

Robin stared at them. "You're serious."

Which.

"No, Rob. It's just. Steve doesn't date these guys because he wants to end up with them," Billy chewed at the skin on his thumbnail, watching as Robin drained the last of the wine. "Steve dates them because--"

"He likes being needed, _we know."_ Robin tossed the empty bottle at him. "Your turn to grab a fresh one."

Billy handed the thing to Heather. "Your turn, Belle's."

She scowled, curling up on the bed, slipping under the covers. "Fuck no, 'M comfy." 

And Billy was used to Heather and Robin setting up camp in his room when they'd had a little too much to drink. Before Adam, Buckley always slept in Steve's room. Spooning him under the covers while they giggled like school children, but.

Those days had come and gone.

Billy stood on shaky feet and watched Robin crawled under the covers, eyes heavy with sleep as she kicked off her socks and scowled a him to _turn off the goddamn light,_ so. He did.

Kind of liked sleeping on the floor when he knew they were warm and comfortable.

Billy poked his head into the dark hallway, listening to the sounds of _America's Next Top Model_ filtering in from the living room. Adam and Steve were probably asleep in front of the T.V. like always. Cuddled up and uncomfortable on their marshmallow couch.

Billy threw a glance over his shoulder at the girls.

They were already snoring.

Go figure. And they'd want a pizza after their powernap, so. Billy shut the door as quietly as he could and padded toward the kitchen.

\--

Steve wasn't asleep, he was crying.

Sitting on the couch crisscross-applesauce, rubbing the sleeve of his jumper across his cheeks which could only mean one thing.

He definitely heard everything they said.

Billy peered around the darkness for his least favorite boyfriend, a nervous sweat breaking out across his feverish skin because, fuck.

Buckley was a loud drunk. A mean drunk. 

They knew she got unfailingly honest after she'd had a few and Heather? That girl was just a bitch. Billy was Steve's best friend. His adversary, his protector. 

"Where's Adam?" Billy grumbled, sounding tired even to his own ears. He hoped against all odds that Steve had missed most of their conversation but.

Steve turned watery eyes on him, sniffling around something that sounded like a whimper lodged in the back of his throat. "He went to bed a couple hours ago." Steve tucked his legs up against his chest, burrowing his puffy little pink cheeks into the sleeve of his jumper, and.

A knife to the chest would've been less painful

"Why didn't you come drink with us?" Billy asked, folding his arms and, like. Trying to look casual.

Trying not to die when Steve let out a thick, wet laugh. "I heard what you said about me."

_Shit._

Billy nodded because. What was he supposed to do? He sat on the couch as far away from Steve as he could get without making it obvious. Watched Harrington weep silently in the space next to him like a wounded baby deer hiding under a bush. Billy hated himself for being the reason Steve was sitting out here alone.

In the dark, with a pint of ice cream on the table in front of him.

He had to know. "D'you guys break up?"

Steve chuckled. Thickly, without humor. "No, but I'm sure you're expecting that, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Steve," Billy snapped. He was tired and hungry and _drunk;_ wasn't in the mood to talk about this the first time with the girls, let alone now. He ran a hand through his hair. "I couldn't give less of a shit who you're fucking or who you marry. If you _ever_ marry, that's not--"

"You guys were right."

Billy stared at him. "What?"

"Everything you said. About, like, the clinginess and the neediness. Breaking people's hearts?" Steve scrubbed a sleeve across his face as Tyra Banks told the models they were going to London. The T.V. cast shadows across his milky skin, nose outlined in pretty springs of color when he shook his head. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I can't be alone or something."

Billy reached for him out of pure instinct, making a grab for the ice cream when Steve flinched away.

God, he felt like shit. "It's not your fault people fall in love with you, Stevie."

"Would you?"

Billy choked on his spit. "Huh?"

Steve shifted on the couch until they were facing each other. His eyes were serious, searching. "Would you fall in love with me? Like, if you didn't know me before?"

And fuck if _that_ wasn't a loaded question.

Billy swallowed thickly. "Think I'd fuck you if I didn't know--"

"Gross."

"Let me _finish."_ Billy handed the ice cream back with a huff. He wanted to get this right. "You know me. I don't really believe in marriage or monogamy and you're, like. The poster child for happy, healthy, long term relationships." Billy nodded his head like _understand. Hear me, please._

Steve considered him. 

Finally; "I wouldn't fuck you if you still had your mullet." Steve said. Like it was just another fact of life--inarguable.

Which.

Billy loved his mullet, fuck you very much. He shook his head. "You're a goddamn menace, Harrington."

"I'm not sure I deserve to be loved," Steve said thickly, tears streaming down his face _again_ and Billy wondered distantly where he held them all, holy shit. Steve took a deep breath. "What's so special about me?"

And Billy had thought the same. Countless times, in countless ways, but. Never in seriousness.

Never to be mean. 

Billy found himself reaching across the space again until his fingers closed around the back of Steve's neck. "Don't fucking say that, asshole." He whispered and, okay.

Not his best work, but.

Steve blinked. "Huh?"

"You deserve love, Steve." Billy snapped. He fucking hated this part, the touchy-feely bullshit. Where were the girls when he needed them? 

Steve's eyes welled up with fresh tears, glinting like unearthed diamonds in the light and Billy shook his head.

"You deserve this. Everything." He said. Because it was true. Billy gave Steve's neck one final squeeze before he stood, clapping his hands together as if to signal _that's all I'm saying about it, don't fucking ask me anything else!_

"Pizza?" He offered, avoiding Steve's face and the tears he knew were there.

Steve cleared his throat and chuckled. Small, reedy, but.

It was something.

"Pizza." He concluded.

So Billy got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legitimately have no idea what this is lol.  
> I have plans to do a Sex & the City AU--this may be the seedling of that idea. May just be a stand-alone thing, who the hell knows. Either way; fluff and humor and Pining for the Ages will ensue!  
> Please let me know if you enjoyed it.  
> Your feedback is like heroin.  
> okay lysm bye <3


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